Paradise for one

There’s a unique feeling of freedom to a Maldives arrival. Landing bleary-eyed on the island capital of Malé, you’ve lugged your luggage to the correct pier and waited patiently for your seaplane. Then suddenly you’re away, a tropical bird gliding over a silken navy ocean shot through with flashes of teal ringed by aquamarine – its coral islands, like sliced-through gemstones. Your skin prickles as you realise how far from land – real, substantial land – you are. Descending to a fanfare of sea spray, you step onto that wooden jetty with only one thing in mind: pure indulgence.

No one goes to the Maldives for anything less than frivolity. You probably won’t even pack a serious book. The islands are all about dazzling aesthetic and high-def colours, pleasure pursuits and lolling about. Until recently, they were seen as the preserve of honeymooners and married big spenders, but the tide is turning. Not only are we – the growing tribe of single travellers chasing the best of the best – ignoring the plus-one code and treating ourselves, but the resorts are becoming attuned to us, supplementing their lovey-dovey image by investing in retreats, mingle-friendly spaces and solo-focused packages.

The first time I came here, I couldn’t believe that honeymooners had hogged it for so long. Surely the best bit about castaway life – a truly remote location, peak natural beauty, and a down-to-earth lifestyle – is getting back in touch with yourself? Having pictured myself awkwardly taking over daybeds made for two, or sitting alone in candlelit restaurants, what I found instead was space. Acres of it, where I could lounge uninterrupted on my own terrace, or take a walk along deserted stretches of beach, passing only a flapping fruit bat or reef shark darting through the shallows. At dinner, I’d scoot to the table nearest the water’s edge, no canoodling couples in view, and marvel at the purr of the waves and the clear-cut constellations above me.

The truth is, most of what you’ll do here is so deliciously self-indulgent that you’ll barely register your solo status. A perfect day’s agenda might include browsing a glossy magazine over a pile of tropical fruit, inches from sand and sea. Then a workout at a top-spec gym, facing luminous ocean, or an hour or two reading a book on the beach, before, perhaps, a sushi-making class – mindfully sculpting tidy little rolls sprinkled with amber fish roe, then devouring them for lunch. Later, you might step into the kaleidoscope of marine life just beyond a waist-deep lagoon, moving between a ballet of blue tangs, winged manta rays and disco-hued parrotfish. Coming up for air, you’ve a massage booked at the overwater spa – my favourites, such as Hurawalhi’s and Anantara Kihavah’s, use the islands’ native herbs and fruits for an au naturel feel.

And that’s if you don’t want to add on the extras – the boat trips out to see whale sharks, the group yoga classes, the nature walks and scuba sessions laid on by most resorts. It’s a DIY retreat with a buffet of pure-pleasure moments to tick off – you simply choose the order and pace at which you want to indulge. No compromise required.

On my first solo jaunt, Hurawalhi had the refreshing feel of a summer camp in paradise: tennis courts, cocktail bars, sign-up sheets for sailing excursions, live music at cocktail hour. But you might opt for Gili Lankanfushi, an eco-hippie isle with a dedicated ‘Solo Experience’ package, taking care of everything from fee-free room service to a photo shoot staged by your butler. Newer resorts are ditching the white-veiled cabanas and tiki torches for a looser, clubbier, more colourful atmosphere – check out relative newcomer Finolhu (opening image) and scene-y escape W Maldives (above). On Joali, guests are treated to a parade of pampering and fitness sessions – and optional mingling at beach barbecues.

But, as with any castaway moment, human contact is optional. On the earthy Coco Bodu Hithi Resort, I took most meals in my bungalow, but booked a tour with its Bond-girl marine biologist, Sonia Valladares. We chatted on the boat out to a nearby reef, where she free-dived below me to point out clusters of snoozing nurse sharks, bobbing baby turtles and a purple jellyfish as huge and showy as an Ascot hat. She was the first person I’d talked to in three days – I’d previously been lost in a novel and the fruits of my minibar, sprawled on my own private pool deck.

Although most resorts have the Wi-Fi quality for all your WhatsApp bragging, Netflix-streaming needs, the Maldives feels suited to a digital detox (Gili Lankanfushi’s motto is ‘No news, no shoes’). With all of this beauty on your doorstep, it’s worth pressing pause on the doom-scrolling to be mindful of your surroundings. Daily snorkelling begins to feel as mesmeric as any meditation app, as you hover over octopus and clownfish on their daily commute. Over morning coffee, notice how the palest powder blue of the shoreline bleeds into peacock-feather teal, then inky blue-black. Glance around to check you’re truly flying solo, and you could even hug that palm tree. Go on – we’ve all missed them.